


Leather Apron (Murder on the Streets of Whitechapel)

by Sami714



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Historical, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, M/M, Victorian Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sami714/pseuds/Sami714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murderer has been terrorizing London's east end and its not William or Angelus for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather Apron (Murder on the Streets of Whitechapel)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [longerthanwedo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=longerthanwedo).



November 8th, 1888

 

Will wandered the muddy streets of Whitechapel with a snarl on his face. The young vampire blended into the poverty-stricken surroundings in his bare shirt sleeves and suspenders attached to rough working trousers. He kept to the rotting planks that lined the ground, close to the front of the rancid tenements, delis, and pubs, away from the filthy splashes of traffic as his feet took him towards gloomy Dorset street. It was the worse street in all of London in the heart of the Spitalfields rookery where screams were ignored and life was cheap.

His stomach rumbled. Ever since that damnable Leather Apron, or whatever the yellow papers were calling the ponce this week, it was slim pickings on the grim streets of London as humans scurried in fear to their hovels. The only humans that choose to be out were the Irish and Jewish immigrant vigilantes that roamed the area looking for the killer. The tarts couldn't hide their fear under a laudanum induced false gaiety anymore after three months of attacks. Most were armed to the teeth. He wouldn't have been surprised to find daggers in some of the slags' cunts. There were a few of the common dregs hidden in the shadows and alleyways but the usual sound of fucking, brawling, and hurdy gurdy music was subdued. Even the pickpockets were more timid.

Will felt a hunger pang as well as the presence of another from his clan. He turned around with a smirk as a hansom cab slowed to a stop on the street.

Angelus stepped from the cab, tossed the gap-toothed driver a few shillings, before gingerly walking through the muck towards Will. Anger blazed from his tight jaw to his clenched fist around the head of his cane. His jacket pocket bulged with the outline of a stake. The model of a gentlemen, collar and trousers perfectly starched and ironed, hair cut short in the latest fashion under his top hat, Angelus looked more out of place than Lily Langtry in the Queen's parlor.

"Evening." Will felt the temptation to crack wise but the look in Angelus' dark gaze made him polite. He noticed the faint tang of his grandsire's blood in the air and mud caked to mid-shin on his trousers. "How's hunting?"

"T'was nearly caught by vigilantes." Angelus scanned the street before he sniffed the air. "He's nearby. Excellent," he muttered.

"Who? The ruffians?" Will looked around, hands in his pockets, rising up on his heels. "Goin' to show 'em what's what? I'll take a bit of violence to wash down all the night's rotgut."

"Nay, lad, we have business to attend too." Angelus took off in his long-legged stride down the narrow street.

"Oi, what is it?" Will ran to keep up. The thick stench of coppery blood reached his nose as a scream rose up and was cut off quickly.

"The newest minion is out of control and stupid to boot." Angelus slowed. "He's the Whitechapel Murderer that we've been reading so much about. Dru found his ridiculous box of organs and news clippings under his cot. It's so bourgeoisie."

"The sloppy wanker will bring down our reputation." Will couldn't wait to get his lumps in when they found the fellow, his hunting had been cocked up for months by this womb-collecting jackass, and then he would be able to dine with ease again. "I guess we know what he was doing when he was always late to pick us up from the opera."

Angelus pointed his cane and ducked into a dark passageway into a boarding house of obvious ill-repute. He dropped coin on the lobby desk, where it was eagerly picked up by the owner of the dank establishment, with a warning, "We were never here."

They already were striding up the rickety stairs before she could answer.

"Open hourly rooms on the third floor, sirs." The wrinkled maven winked and cackled. "What two good-looking and earnest gents do alone together is not my concern. Mandrakes, God bless 'em, and their shillings."

Will snorted, admiring the view of Angelus' backside, as they reached the second floor. The old hag wasn't completely off. Maybe once the sun rose, they could have a spot of fun. His nose distracted him from his lusty thoughts. The bloody smell of death hung even stronger in the air. His sensitive ears could hear the crack of knife on bone.

Angelus slunk, silent as a lonely grave, to the fourth door on the left. Hand on the knob, he broke the lock with a twist of his wrist and slammed his shoulder against the door. He stepped inside and raised his cane before bringing it down swiftly.

Will followed him into the tiny room and closed the door. Lightheaded from the smell, his stomach rumbled again.

The minion stared slack-jawed as he straddled a woman, mutilated so bad that her mother wouldn't have recognized her, with a knife in his hand. Blood puddled on the wood floor by the bed. A heart lay dripping on the side table. Will could already imagine the lurid headlines.

Angelus hit the minion on the head again. "Imbecile. What is this?" He hissed as Angelus grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall. "Fool. I'd ask why, but I don't care." Angelus dropped his cane and pulled out the stake before striking, fast and sure, into the minion's heart. "May the devil take ye since I haven't the time at the moment." He turned around and picked up his cane. "Look at this. Really now, where is the artistry in this?"

Will shrugged, thinking about how in Satan's great hell they were going to hide this from the bobbies, and crossed his arms. "Agreed, the freak even cut up her lady laycock."

"For the sake of Saint Peter, he didn't put the second lock on the door." Angelus shook his head and threw up his arms. "Let's leave this to the bobbies. Give the heart to Dru. Thank God the season begins and we can hunt amongst proper society again. Let's go before the inmates of this wretched institution catch wise of this mess."

Will smirked. "And waste your shilling? Let us use up our time on the third floor just like we told the good landlady. Be the scandalous mandrakes that haven't inclination to pick up a woman let alone carve her up."

"True." Angelus raked his eyes over the younger vampire as he stepped closer, a grin reaching his lips. "We wouldn't want to raise her suspicions."

 

The next day, the landlady knocked on the fourth door on the second floor. "Come now, you slapper, its past ten in the morning. You need to find yourself more shillings or another room." She cursed as she used the spare key to open the door. It swung open to reveal sheer horror. The woman ran down the hall screaming, "Murder!" Her plump legs sped down the stairs and out the front door into the crowded street. "It's the Ripper. Call the constable. Jack the Ripper was here!"

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes continued--
> 
> Victorian Slang glossary:
> 
> laudanum: popular and highly addictive mixture of opium and alcohol.  
> Earnest: euphemism for homosexuality  
> Mandrake: Homosexuals  
> Lady Laycock: female genitals.  
> hurdy gurdy: popular dance hall music  
> Bobbies: policemen
> 
> Jack the Ripper:
> 
> November 8th was when Scotland Yard determined that Mary Jane Kelly was killed just off Dorset Street. I have changed around details to suit the story but the names Leather Apron and the Whitechapel Murderer were names given to the man who terrorized the largely poor immigrant population of the London slums. Kelly was the last of the 'canonical five' victims.
> 
> Angelus's Hair:
> 
> I figured that while Angelus always looked like David Boreanaz pissed off the wig department, at some point in time, he would have had to cut his hair to fit in. In my mind, one of Darla and Angelus' favorite topics to loving bicker on is his hair. Mostly I just wanted Angelus to have good hair for once.


End file.
